ant Ignacio gazing at him.

But Ignacio bided his time, and said nothing. Meanwhile, the troopers
trotted on.

In about fifteen minutes the little town drew near. Clif did not know
the name of it, for he had no idea where he had run ashore on the
previous night. But he did not think he was far from Havana.

The arrival of the soldiers created intense excitement in the town. Men
and women and children and barking dogs rushed out to see them pass.

And when it was discovered that five Yankees had been captured the
cavalrymen received an ovation. But they made straight on to their
destination; what it was Clif had no trouble in guessing.

There was a railroad station in the town, and there the troopers came to
a halt. Most of them dismounted from their horses to rest, and the
captain hurried off to attend to the task of getting a train to take
those prisoners to the capital.

Meanwhile a great crowd gathered about the little station; most of them
were ugly-looking, ragged men, and they crowded around the prisoners and
stared at them curiously.

There were looks of hatred upon their unpleasant faces, and their
remarks it may be believed were not complimentary.

"The Yankee pigs have met their match at last," snarled one
tobacco-stained peon, who had forced his way up close to Clif.

"And they'll go to Havana as they wanted to," put in another, with a
leer. "They were boasting they'd get there."

There were some grins at that sally, which encouraged the Spaniard to go
on.

"How do you like it?" he inquired. "Santa Maria, couldn't you have run
fast enough?"

"They won't run any more," snarled another. "They'll be put where
they're safe."

An old woman with a haggard, savage-looking face and a heavy stick shook
the latter in the Americans' faces, as she cursed them in her shrill,
Spanish jargon.

And then suddenly came a loud cry from the outskirts of the crowd.

"Stone the pigs! Kill 'em! Don't let them get away!"

Clif could not see the man who yelled that, but he knew the voice, and
realized that Ignacio was getting in his fine work again.

And he seemed likely to be successful, too, for the cry appeared to
please the crowd.

"Yes, yes, kill 'em!" swelled the muttering shout.

And a moment later some one, perhaps Ignacio himself, flung a heavy
stone at the Americans.

It sailed over the heads of the mob, and struck one of the sailors a
glancing blow on the forehead.

It made an ugly wound, and bl